The Tradition
by anneikenskywalker
Summary: On his birthday, a small tradition that Philip and Elizabeth still share, proves that their marriage isn't always what it seems. There is pleasure, joy and love in the little things that make life worthwhile... and this day, of all days, Philip reflects on that.


Philip took in a deep breath, closing his eyes and listening to the sounds around him, drinking them in…

Young children crying out in shrieks of joy in the distant halls of the palace…

The hoof clatter of the horses that carried the mounted Queen's Guard across the grounds of Buckingham Palace…

The bristles of the brush in his valet's hand, making contact with the leather on his right dress shoe…

"Sir," a voice suddenly said, bringing the prince out of his mediation.

Philip's blue eyes blinked open and the sounds fade into the background once more.

"Do you wish to wear the gray tie or the blue?" the second valet, the younger of the two, asked as he presented two perfectly pressed ties over the crook of his left arm.

"The gray," Philip replied and the valet nodded, gently setting the blue aside, then stepped forward, ready to attend to Philip's tie.

"That's alright," Philip smiled and held out his hand, "I'll take care of it. We have to maintain tradition."

"But, Sir—" the young valet interjected

However, he was quickly rebuffed by the older valet still on his knees below them as he now shined the prince's left shoe.

"Forget it, Laddie," the man said in a Scottish drawl, still looking down as he worked, "It's _tradition_."

After a moment's pause, the young valet nodded, still quite uncertain as to what was transpiring, "Yes, Sir,"

He then handed Philip the tie before he bowed and stepped away, making his way across the room to attend to the empty breakfast tray Philip had left on his desk.

Philip smirked as he wrapped the tie gently around his right hand, his mind wandering to his wife—his Elizabeth—and the little "tradition" they share regarding his ties.

Suddenly, the brushing on his foot stopped and Phillip realized that the older valet was finished with his task.

Philip brought his foot down from the stool and the valet removed it, brush in the other hand, and stepped away, allowing the prince to exam himself in the full length, three sided mirror.

"Thank You," Philip said as he adjusted the cuff links on his long sleeve dress shirt, the ones his wife had given him for their ten year anniversary, and his eyes softened.

They were their initials intertwined, elegantly and intimately.

"Sir…" the older valet said as he suddenly appeared behind Philip in the mirror, holding the prince's suit jacket out for him

"Yes…Right," Philip smiled, looking up as he realized what the valet was waiting for and released his hold on the cuffs of his shirt as he stepped back and let the valet bring the jacket over his arms and shoulders.

Philip placed the tie in the front pocket of his jacket and buttoned the front of his jacket as the valet began running a clothing brush over the back and shoulders.

When the man stepped back, the prince winked at him, then spun around on his heel as he walked over to his bedside table and picked up his wrist watch.

As he did so, his eyes wandered to the pictures there.

One was of his wife, Elizabeth. It was an official portrait of her in her royal regalia—her "battle dress" as she jokingly referred to it.

The other was of Philip as a young boy with his favorite sister, Cecile. The picture was taken when they were in exile in France, sitting on a chair near a swimming pool. They were in swimming dress and Philip sat on his sister's lap, their bright eyes and blonde hair clearly shining in the sun, evident even in a black and white photograph.

Cecile held him gently, but tightly, an indication of the years ahead, when she would be the only real mother figure he ever knew.

Philip's nostrils flared as he thought of the last conversation they had shared before she died in a plane crash with her family. His words had been angry and his heart, hurt. He had said things that he did not mean and he didn't say "I Love You".

They were words that he hardly ever said anyway—somehow he always found them hard to say.

But, had he known that that was the last time he would ever speak to his sister, he would have said them to her.

In fact, until Elizabeth, Cecile was the only person he would have ever said them to.

Philip cleared his throat as he turned his attention to his watch and affixed it to his wrist, casually checking the time before turning back to the photographs.

Then, bringing the first and second fingers of his right hand to his lips, kissed them.

He then placed the fingers over the glass that covered his sister's face, then his wife's.

# # # # # # # #

Philip's eyes wandered to the walls that surrounded him as he moved through the palace corridor, paintings of his and his wife's ancestors staring down at him.

Some looked on approvingly and others did not.

Philip smirked as he thought of this and realized that he didn't really care.

He had made his own rules when it came to the monarchy and, for the most part, Elizabeth had been by his side.

They had shared their ups and downs over the years, but his goal after Prince Edward was born, was to make sure that there were more ups than downs—more communication—more teamwork.

And there was.

Philip didn't know how he would exactly fit into the monarchy when he first became Prince Consort. Of course, it had all happened far earlier than anyone had ever expected and it had definitely been a struggle—for acceptance as well as for power, as it was hard to let go of being the head of his own family unit and deferring to his wife.

However, over time, it became less about him and more about the joy he took in his children and watching them grow and watching Elizabeth come out of her shell and shine in the role she was never supposed to inherit and only did so because fate is a cruel mistress.

Watching Elizabeth shine was something that really only he had ever seen in the private moments they had shared before and right after they were married. But, now, it made him incredibly proud that the world saw that part of her too.

Elizabeth was strong and she was fearless, though never overbearing. She was intelligent—not book smart, but worldly and interested. There wasn't a name she didn't remember when it came to a politician or someone she had met on tour or an event at which she would always succeed in looking engaged and interested, when all Philip wanted to do was take a nap.

About halfway down the hall, Philip's pace slowed and he nodded to the footman, who opened the door to their private family rooms.

As he entered, Philip found his wife standing at her desk, reading a note that someone had sent her.

The light from the window behind the Queen softly illuminated her, making her look angelic and, for a few moments, Philip thought he had died and gone to heaven.

When she heard his footsteps, Elizabeth looked up and smirked as she lowered the note in her hands and said joyfully, with a soft smile, "Many Happy Returns!"

"Thank you, Darling," Philip smiled, then reached into his suit jacket pocket and produced his tie with flare, "May I ask you to do the honors?"

Elizabeth's eyes brightened and she smirked shyly as she placed the note back into its envelope, dropping it on her desk unceremoniously before turning and picking up her handbag from the chair behind her.

Placing it over the lower part of her left arm, Elizabeth rounded the desk and moved forward, closing the distance between herself and her husband.

Elizabeth took in a breath as she met he husband's eyes and, with another shy smile, took hold of the tie and slowly brought it into her grasp. She then turned her gaze as she focused on Philip's collar.

Philip now looked to the footman on the inside of the doorway across the room and winked at him before signaling for him to turn his back to them, allowing them some privacy.

When the footman obliged, Philip turned his attention back to his wife, watching her intimately and intensely as she reached up and buttoned the top button on his collar before turning up the sides and wrapping the tie around her husband's neck.

Philip closed his eyes and slowly leaned forward, breathing in her scent as his lips brushed over her forehead.

Elizabeth felt the electricity hum between them as she slowly looped the fabric, making a firm knot, and Philip's eyes opened when he felt her pulling the knot up to his top collar button.

Philip gazed down, lovingly, at his wife's small, delicate hands as they folded down his collar, then adjusted the tie across his shirt, before tucking it into his suit jacket.

When she was done, Elizabeth gave a gentle, sensual smile as she looked up to her husband, meeting his eyes again.

Suddenly, a wave of memories flooded over him as Philip remembered their first kiss on the grounds at Balmoral, their wedding day when he got her nervous smile to turn into a joyful one, their many nights together when they didn't want to abide by the common aristocratic practice of having separate bedrooms, gazing in awe at their newborn children together, the way they would smile at each other across a crowded room, how she would gently and lovingly wrap her arms around him and not say a word after they had had a fight…

Those were memories worth remembering and that is the one thing Philip thanked the God above for every day (even though he had never put much stock in religion).

For years, he thought his childhood mattered, his status in society mattered—but, that was all shattered when Elizabeth took his hand and gave him a new life—a life filled with beauty and purpose and most of all, something he had never had before in his life, unconditional love.

Even after all the fights and disagreements, she never gave up on him, she never walked away.

It had been hard, yes, but in the end, he had the best person by his side...

 _His Elizabeth_.

"She tied my tie and she tied me to her…" Philip suddenly whispered, leaning forward and brushing his nose against his wife's before he gently captured her lips with his.

The tie was a ritual that had become routine after Elizabeth became Queen, a moment of intimacy they could have when there seemed to always be people around.

After a few moments, Elizabeth pulled back, "Everyone is waiting on us. I know its _your_ birthday, Philip, but remember that we are sorely outnumbered now and _no doubt_ they will start without us…" then chuckled, "Royal protocol or no!"

Philip smirked, then nodded, looking down and checking his watch, "Let us get on then."

Elizabeth gently took his arm to steady herself and turned toward the door where the footman had now turned back to face them.

"Your Majesty…." He bowed to the Queen, then her husband, "Your Royal Highness…."

He then opened the door and, before Philip and Elizabeth could walk through, a small figure dashed across the threshold.

"Grandpa!" Prince George cried happily, running forward toward them

Philip smiled and the Queen beamed, releasing Philip's arm, as she watched her husband, though now 95 years-old, lean forward and pick up the small boy with ease.

"Hello…" Philip chuckled and turned a cheek toward his great-grandson as the small boy kissed him.

"I made something for you…" George chatted on, producing a small hand-craft to Philip as the Queen crossed her hands in front of her and formally walked into the next room filled with their family, her husband following absentmindedly behind her.

Elizabeth made her way around the room, greeting her children and grandchildren, kissing them between bows and curtseys.

As he stood in the doorway with George, the future of his family, Philip gazed upon all that he and Elizabeth had built together—minus the gilded furniture and the designer clothing—they really were just a family like any other… _his_ family.

Suddenly, his daughter, Princess Anne came forward and kissed him on the cheek.

"Happy Birthday, Papa…" she smiled broadly, displaying her father's eyes and her mother's mouth, leaving the curtsy behind because she knew her father loathed that his own children had to bow and curtsy to him, even in informal settings.

Prince Charles then came forward and kissed his father, too and Philip lovingly squeezed his oldest son's shoulder as he pulled back.

"There is the 'Golden God'!" Prince Harry chuckled as he too came forward and embraced his grandfather, then tickled George's stomach when he pulled away.

As this transpired, Philip looked across the room and his gaze met Elizabeth's, where she had suddenly turned back from her conversation with Princes Edward and Andrew and their families.

Then, she smiled and Philip knew.

Almost 96 years on this earth had passed for Philip Mountbatten and his deep blue eyes had seen and experience so much…

However, the last 70 years, he knew for certain, now more than ever, for better or worse, had been the best years of his life.


End file.
